


that's what we are

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Communication, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Niccolò Fares, Pillow Talk, Post-Canon, Relationship Talk, first I love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: After the tombolata, Nico stays with Marti and hears everything he needs but didn't ask for.





	that's what we are

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after the Christmas party in the last clip of season 2. Inspired by a lovely anon on tumblr. Enjoy 💛

Well past midnight, everyone has left by now — even those who stayed behind to finish the last of the wine and help clean. The fireplace on the TV is still on. Tinsel leaks out of the trash can. And they kept the lights up.

“You’re not staying here?”

Nico’s hand on the doorknob loosens its grip. They've been kissing in the hallway, backing up to it, for longer than a minute now. He thought it was obvious. 

“Do you want me to stay here?” The question is redundant — Marti’s own makes it clear enough. But Nico wants to hear him say it. It’s not the best habit, these slight (but still kind, just faux-hesitant) digs at him for validation. 

When really Nico feels like he should be the one making his feelings transparent. And he has, kind of (but it still never feels like enough). With that text he sent the night Marti rose from the twinkling lights to the terrace to meet him — still the last they’ve exchanged. They’re much more prone to talking over the phone these days.

(The unanswered _I love you_ almost on purpose, so as not to be dismissed.)

“Of course,” Marti nods, a little confused. Like their sleeping arrangements were already decided despite agreeing to anything. Nico thinks it’s cute, this line of thinking — that whenever they can, they should be together. “Mom is gone. There’s no need for you to go home. And it’s late. You’ll be safer staying.”

All good points. “I didn’t bring any pajamas.”

Marti rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I have something you can wear.”

Nico’s already being dragged to Marti’s room before he can pretend to fight it. Thrown a new shirt, the toothbrush he’s left here. They change, and he uses it to the side of the sink while Marti washes and dries his face, exchanging funky raised eyebrows and crossed eyes at each other in the mirror, sleep silly. 

Marti shoves Nico in the shoulder like _stop it,_ like he’s embarrassed even though there’s no one around. His pink cheeks and pinched smile would say otherwise.

When they collapse back in bed, it’s with their heads at the foot of it. A nonverbal way to say it’s not quite time for sleep yet: pillow talk without any pillows.

“So…” Marti trails, breaking the silence. It’s dark, but Nico can hear the airs in just the single word. It’s said with a smile, for sure. “You told your mom about me?”

It’s supposed to be cute. Still, Nico’s stomach curls unpleasantly. He wouldn’t mind sparing Marti from the exact conversation. Because yes, he has. Weeks ago, when she drilled _what were you thinking? What were you doing with him?_ after they left Milan that eerily sunny morning. Kind enough, if you want to say that, after the car ride so Maddi didn’t have to hear.

Watching her face sink while Nico unloaded (rather angrily) is an expression he’ll never forget. 

And it’s a conversation they had twice: again when Marti dropped him off in the landing to his building after that night on the terrace. Her expression this time one of understanding, and while it doesn’t zero anything out, it’s one of the only times she’s looked at him like she believed every word he said.

So Nico settles for: “Yeah.” And doubts himself for passing along her request for tea, wondering if everything is moving too fast right when it all just fell back together. Like there’s no time to breathe in between. 

Not for him, but for Marti — worried that he might need some time to see how steady this can actually be before getting serious.

“Seriously,” Nico starts again, breaking the beat of silence that still wasn’t quite long enough for Marti to form a response to just one word. “You don’t have to meet her again yet if you don’t want to.”

Marti props himself up on his elbow, Nico’s eyes adjusted enough to see that his brows are drawn together a little puzzled.

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“I don’t know if you need, like, some space…” Nico trails. “Some time.”

“Ni,” Marti prods, sighing. Not annoyed, just worried. “Time for what?”

Nico doesn’t want to say it directly. _Time to decide if you really want me._

“I’m just sorry if telling her all about you was too… fast. And too forward. If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Marti bends back down, this time closer, resting his head between Nico’s shoulder and neck. Nico can feel his breath on his throat, warm. Feel his hand heavy on his chest where it’s come to rest. An answer within itself.

“You know,” Marti says after a long while, “I’ve told my mom about you too.”

Nico’s heart is doing something that can only be described as smiling. If only Marti knew how important these little proofs are to him.

“Well,” Marti continues. “She knows _about_ you. I haven’t gone into detail. But believe me —” he tips his chin up, chuckling. He pecks Nico’s jaw. “She wants the details. And hey, you —” he headbutts Nico’s cheek with his forehead, cushioned by curls. “You’re talking to Mr. _Come Have Christmas Dinner With My Dad._ If that’s not forward I don’t know what is. Don’t you remember? I have a vaccine against being uncomfortable now.”

He hugs him closer, shifting, intertwining; Nico could cry.

“Yeah, but that was before —”

“Before nothing,” Marti interrupts him. “It’s just life. I know now... what you feel for me.”

 _Keep going._ Nico feels selfish for thinking it, but it’s like a need. He’d be content forever if Marti never shut up about about how he makes his heart race, but that’s not only unrealistic in the context of Marti’s personality, it’s unrealistic in the context of life. Somewhere back in his mind, he knows that.

“And I feel it for you, too,” Marti whispers.

Nico’s mouth is starting to go dry, the air in his lungs feels staticy. “Feel what?”

Marti laughs. Scoots up, takes Nico’s chin and tilts it over so they’re looking at each other. It brings him right back to so many feelings, so intense Marti hasn’t even said it yet and already his eyes start to water.

“Love. That I love you.”

Spoken so softly but so clearly it can’t be a mistake. Nico kisses him as an answer. Well, as a prelude to an answer. They both exhale defenseless and comfy through their nose, smiling into it. Marti moves the hand from Nico’s chest up to his face, cradling it with his ear somewhere between his fingers. His thumb smooths over it at one point.

Nico pulls away before getting too lost — the perfect window to return the words opening.

“I love you too. Have for a while.”

The words don’t underwhelm Marti, but they come expected. He nods into another kiss, grinning, tucking Nico’s hair behind his ear. Just savoring that moment for a long while, unmoving as if to solidify the time from an outside perspective. Like a picture.

Nico takes a mental one of the feeling.

“So,” Marti pops off of him. “How are you going to introduce me to her this time? As your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Nico laughs, coy, but his heart is soaring — the testament of these short moments back to back are a little too much all at once.

“Yeah,” Marti nods. His eyes go soft, searching. Some of the adventure in them is lost, and Nico recognizes the vulnerability. “That’s what we are, right?” The question has weight behind it — like Marti actually doesn’t know the answer.

But it’s one that needs no thought.

“Yeah,” Nico repeats. Heart smiling again. “That’s what we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/)


End file.
